How to Fix a Broken Window
by Spot and Punk
Summary: Another unexpected addition to an unexpected fic. House and Cuddy share a bed and all does not go to plan... A Huddy multi-part so it seems.
1. Chapter 1

**How to Fix a Broken Window**

It was well past eight in the PPTH cafeteria and the lights were down low in anticipation of closing time. The sky outside burned a brilliant orange as the sun set over the campus and the unexpected heat of the day finally let up. In the farthest corner, House poked at the fries on his plate and made little trails of ketchup run across the knife. Sitting in this spot meant he was easily in the best position to see just who was coming in and who was going out. He often found that the best place to be inconspicuous was where you were least expected, or most expected. He had never figured which way round it worked, just that it did.

Fully aware that the waitress wasn't able to finish her shift until the last customer had gone, House drew out his meal by arranging the fries into a Jenga tower, unable to resist annoying just one more person, before the day was out.

He slurped at his coke and shook the paper cup, listening as the ice cubes crashed about inside, like glass… He hadn't actually meant to smash the window in his office. That was where Cuddy had it wrong. No point trying to convince her of that though. Another lesson hard learned, just suck it up and move on.

The sound had been spectacularly loud as thousands of tiny shards of glass had burst out from the window, falling across most of his office. At first, he had stood there mouth open, transfixed like a moth in the light.

Lethal flakes of glass had scattered over everything, the bigger pieces catching the sun-light as it shone through the gap. The effect had been intense, rainbows of refracted light shone all over the office walls and it had all been so very overwhelming.

It was all so predictable really, the stifling heat had got to him like some idiot red-neck worked up before a summer storm. He wasn't intentionally trying to push at this new thing between them. It was just that it seemed so unreal and fantastic that he didn't quite know which way was up anymore. Better then to fall back on reliably antagonistic behaviour that would guarantee a sure, time-honoured response. She would get mad, she would sulk for a few days, add time to his clinic hours and that would in turn give him some sort of bench-mark from which to figure this whole thing out. Too bad he couldn't actually articulate this like a normal human being – whatever that meant.

Deciding that Cuddy had almost certainly left the building, he figured he was safe to leave. He drew himself up to his full height, giving his thigh a quick reassuring rub, then limped out of the cafeteria much to the relief of the bored waitress who knew better than to challenge this particular doctor.

Struggling with the interminable fight between cane, hands, and pockets, he stood at the admit desk searching for the sunglasses in the bottom of his bag. It had been incredibly hot unexpectedly, and nobody had been ready for it. He had sweated gently like a slow-roasted pig in inappropriate clothes for much of the day – out of season and very much out of favour.

It was with a growing sense of urgency as he thought of the waiting cool shower in his apartment, that he hooked the bag onto his shoulder, swapped the cane into his right hand and made for the exit. Though there really wasn't anyone around to care, he thought he had managed the whole thing beautifully and let a sly smirk raise the corner of his mouth; another thing that any given audience would read wrong.

He had tuned out the nagging pain gnawing at his leg for a whole twenty minutes by driving home with the windows down, wind filling the space in his head usually given over to that chunk of missing muscle. He'd tuned the radio into some news station and turned it up loud, the endless drone competing with the sounds of the city for his attention. For as long as it took him to circle his block, he had considered driving on, setting off on some juvenile road trip to just break out of whatever Princeton had in store for him. Sometimes he felt trapped, hemmed in with the old coping strategies - pre and post infarction - no longer open to him.

_Now_ he didn't have that little bottle of pills to hide behind and the effect he had on other people had been brought into stark relief as though the end of the Vicodin years had lifted some horribly metaphorical veil from his eyes. _Now_, his actions had repercussions and he didn't have the emotional experience to even begin to deal with that. Nolan's words rang loud in his ears as he fought off the compulsion to play nice and face up to what he had done. Stepping into his apartment meant he could store it all away, pretend it hadn't happened – if he wanted to. Hadn't it always been easier to hide, brood and take one too many pills so he could sleep at night?

The cool shower forced his mind away from its internal ramblings, to the shock of the water as it hit his body. As soon as he couldn't stand it any longer and he felt that he might just pass the next half hour at a comfortable temperature, he shut off the water and lifted his leg up over the side of the bath. He stood dripping on the mat and let his body dry on its own. He pulled on a pair of shorts and relished the dampness of his wet skin seeping through, knowing it would keep him cool.

He limped then into his bedroom, flicked on the fan and lay flat on his bed like a snow angel. As he stretched out, he wasn't sure if the tremors in the aching muscles running up his back were the remnants of the bug he'd had last week or of the hangover he'd given himself a whole twenty-four hours before. Either way, he was one sorry ass.

And he'd never been so _tired_. Those promises of easier sleep, of nights filled with nothing more than dreams and peace and recovery all came to nothing and he was still stuck, pacing, mind whirring and alone. Most of all though, he was tired of the constant effort it took to engage with the people around him, he felt like some sort of new born in a man's body. He had spent years in an emotional void, and suddenly, he was back, a fully functioning member of society having forgotten how to play by the rules and just how damn hard it was to get through the day… when you cared about the people around you. It was easier back then, to piss people off and forget about bonds and friendships in the bottom of a bottle. Still, somehow, someone – he suspected it might have been him – had made the decision to reconnect with the rest of his race, and this is where he had ended up.

It was then that he regretted giving her a spare key.

'You should know I will always track you down eventually.'

He sat up, sucking in a deep breath to get over the shock of unexpected company, immediately hot once again.

She crept forward taking baby steps, probably so as not to freak him out on his own territory. 'It wasn't that hard actually, I watched you, for a while in the cafeteria, saw you walk out of the building and tracked your car as you made it here.' She spoke softly and he registered the amusement in her eyes as the words formed on his lips.

'You know that's a little freaky don't you? Isn't there some kind of law against stalking?' he couldn't gauge what ever it was that might come next. She'd played a wild card and he didn't like it.

'Then there's the cane, it kind of makes you stand out - _hey did you see a guy with a cane go by just now? _See what I mean?'

He sounded a warning by dropping his voice and all but growling as he spoke, 'Lisa…'

'What?' she inched closer, slithering almost across the wooden floor.

'I…'

'Can't finish a sentence tonight?' finally, the light of a smile broke out across her face.

He wouldn't have cared two years ago. Then again, two years ago, there was no way he would imagine her standing here in his apartment, watching him prone and vulnerable on the bed. Now though, he had to adjust to rules long forgotten. He had to lay himself bare, regardless of the consequences and he was trying, boy he was trying.

'I'm sorry, about the window.' He said.

'It's ok.' An answer he hadn't expected.

'Seriously? I broke the window, and your saying now that it's ok?' he sat up disbelieving some of the spell cast vanished with her words.

'Nobody said this would be easy Greg,'

He didn't feel like he knew how to respond so kept his mouth shut instead to see where this would lead, there was more going on here than he had first thought.

'When I came to you that night,' she went on, 'I didn't know what you would say, what you would do. All this is so strange – way back when, in school you know? Then Stacey…' she let her words trail off, let him draw his own conclusions. So much of what was between them went unsaid and he didn't know if that was the problem or the solution.

'What about Rachel?' he asked, surprising himself.

'You wouldn't believe what the nanny charges for an extra hour.'

'Oh.'

'May I?' she gestured to the bed, asking his permission to sit down next to him suddenly conciliatory.

Without waiting for a response, she walked over and ran her hand over his back, avoiding the bruise he'd acquired when he'd fallen last week. 'Does it hurt?'

'Yes.' He wasn't exactly sure which part of him she was referring to but the affirmation would serve any answer he could give and suddenly he felt like this was all too much and he was exposed for the pathetic, brittle freak that he was.

'I'm sorry, ' her hand trailed up across his shoulders, feeling the tension there and ran down the side of his face to his chin. 'Look at me.'

'I…don't…'

'Look at me,' she repeated.

She kissed him and he responded suddenly desperate for the connection to her. She pulled away first, smiling and running her hands down his arms before standing and walking out of his bedroom.

He watched her walk out and listened to the creaks he knew would sound as she made her way out of the apartment. When he heard the front door close, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

The sun had finally set, putting an end to the day with the promise of tomorrow hanging hesitantly, expectantly in the warmth that had soaked into the brick. The darkness seemed to suit his need as he padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He drank it down in one long draught and when he had finished, made his way back to the bedroom sure that sleep would find him quickly.

In the morning, she would be there again, waiting for him and they would figure this all out. It didn't have a name, it didn't seem to have any established rules or codes of conduct. Both of them had too much at stake, too much history and their own independent lives. Lisa revolved around her daughter and that made him some distant star forcing his own orbit, as separate as he'd ever been. In the still of the cool night though, the distance between today and tomorrow afforded a sense of acceptance of all he could offer.

Whatever would be, would be, like the old song said, Greg and Lisa sittin' in the tree.


	2. Chapter 2

**How to Mend a Broken Window, Chapter 2.**

Tuned to the baby monitor beside her bed, Cuddy held her breath, sure that even the suggestion of air going into her lungs and coming out again, would disturb her daughter.

The crunch time for Rachel was always the hours between five and six. If anything disturbed her light sleep, that would be it and the fun and games and relentless toddler pace, would begin for another day. Thrilled and terrified in equal measures, Cuddy's heart quickened in anxiety, or anticipation, at the prospect.

While she waited, tense and ready to spring into action, she listened as House thumped around the living room. He been pacing for an hour, an hour she wasn't supposed to know about.

There was so much she didn't know about Greg House and this hadn't failed to surprise her yet. Given all the years living in each other's pockets at PPTH, the endless days and nights of college, the man remained a total mystery to her.

She'd heard him pacing around, the first night he had stayed over. Woken by alien noises coming from inside her own home, her maternal instincts had kicked in and she had sat bolt upright, alert and in protection mode. It had been kind of reassuring when she'd figured out, thanks to the empty space and rumpled sheets beside her, that it was just House fighting the good fight against the wasted muscle in his leg. Seriously, the guy must clock up the miles…

Deciding it was worth the risk of waking her daughter, Cuddy tied her gown tightly around her waist and crossed her arms tightly as she puttered out silently along the hallway and into the living room.

She perched on the arm of the sofa waiting for House to clock her appearance. He continued, relentless in his pace and intensity and she knew he was elsewhere, locked into some sort of personal vendetta against the unforgiving pain in his leg.

"If you carry on like that, I'm going to need a new floor." She smiled coyly, unsure of his reaction.

He stopped, glared briefly, then turned and started pacing on the opposite direction.

"How often does it wake you like this?" she couldn't help the concern in her voice from showing. This was a side to him she had had no idea about.

He stopped again, looked at her like she had just landed from a distant planet and switched direction once more.

"No improvement? Since the rehab?"

This time he didn't bother to even slow down as he replied, "Yes, it's better…" head down, cane and bad leg in perfect accord.

"This is better?" there was so much she hadn't realized, hadn't given him one cent of credit for.

His reply came in the form of a cocked eyebrow and a brief pause in the pacing.

"But you took _so_ much-"

"I didn't realize, the Vicodin made everything…"

"Is this the therapy? Nolan?" she needed some sort of benchmark, some sort of litmus test to figure out where this sat on his pain scale.

"I'm not going anymore…"

He obviously had something to say, despite appearances, "Why not?"

"I don't need it. I can do this…"

She fought against a long ingrained instinct to snort her response, checking herself just in time. "But what about the crane crash?"

"No, that was, that was a weak moment."

"You aren't weak Greg." She hadn't banked on such honesty and put it down to the early hour, he couldn't really be awake yet.

He stopped and turned to stare at her, expression fixed and forceful, "There _is _only weakness or strength, no in betweens. Not for me, not now."

She thought about her response a second too long, grateful when he blundered on, the litany running through his head for the past month pouring out, unmetered by the usual control he exerted upon himself.

"I'm an addict, I have to protect myself." He began, pausing briefly in his circuit. "My leg hurts every single day but it's not as bad as I thought it was and that's not an easy admission to make." He struck out with his cane, lurching visibly from one step to the next. "If everyone hadn't been tripping over themselves to assuage whatever residual _whatevers_ they had of their own, and if I hadn't have been such a prime ass, then yeah, maybe all of that could have worked out, maybe Stacy wouldn't have left, maybe I'd have more usage. On the other hand, it was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, and there have been plenty of sucky things."

"I didn't know, didn't realize…" and really, she didn't.

"Stacy took my trust, she decided her opinion was better than mine and honestly? Maybe it was…"

"Greg…" she was appalled almost, by such an honest confession. How many times in the past had she dismissed his pain? She started toward him, gently so as not to send him spinning off in some other direction.

"That's in the past now, a year of rehab and therapy and that's in the past now." He gestured toward the offending limb, "this is the present, this is what I have to deal with." He stopped his relentless pacing, and lowered himself down to lean against the far-side wall of her living room, grunting slightly with the effort.

"I'm here now, you can lean on me" she had had to say something, anything but regretted her particular choice of words instantly.

"Huh." A gentle smile spread across his face and he pulled her down to sit next to him on the floor.

She lay her head on his shoulder, thankful for his grace in the face of her ill-thought empty words. She could feel the heat coming off him, he'd been at this ages. It had taken work to get him to some sort of peace, some sort of measure of relief.

All the while, Rachel slept on. Content, warm and unaware of the strange new world her mother had come to inhabit.


	3. Chapter 3

**How to Fix a Broken Window, Chapter 3**

He had always had a somewhat troublesome relationship with sleep and didn't need any help depriving himself of it. To say then that he was mildly surprised by the gentle rumbling going on beside him, was proof he had utterly, fallen head over heels for one Lisa Cuddy.

He lay there, acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing in comparison to the growing violence of what had started off as actually quite cute. Who would have thought that a woman so well groomed and excellently presented would turn into a snoring, snorting sleep thief once the lights went out? The fact that he could picture the rippling of her nasal tissue as well as if he were actually right up in there himself, was in truth, of no help. He was fairly sure that there would be lasting damage and turned his mind to working on some sort of diagnostic test he could execute without drawing her attention to the reason behind it. Again, totally out of character; the Greg House of old would have wasted no time storing up the potential juiciness of this little flaw, ready for the perfect moment to deploy it.

The clock beside her night-stand ticked through the wee hours and still he lay there, unwilling to move unless he absolutely had to. He was warm, he was comfortable and at the moment, his leg was just biding its time. Who was he to wake the beast?

He tried counting back from one hundred, and she snored on. He tried repeating some stupid affirmation he'd picked up in Mayfield, still she snored on. He even tried visualizing sheep taking turns to jump over a fence and still she snored on.

There is nothing quite like the feeling that you should be asleep when there is fat chance of actually managing to be asleep. House always likened it to that special kind of panic that has you trapped in an endless loop of beating heart and whirring mind: _should be asleep, can't be asleep, should be asleep, can't be asleep… _

It was Rachel of all people, who eventually came to his rescue. He heard the beginnings of her stirring and regardless of whether she would go back to sleep on her own or not, nudged the slumbering, form beside him. There was no way he was crossing the 'Rachel line' now… he still needed to get this thing between them straight in his own mind and didn't need any extra complications just yet.

Lisa let out one final, mighty snort and sat bolt up right in the bed looking mildly surprised to find him there beside her.

'What is it? What's the matter? She asked as she pushed her hair away from her face and rubbed at her eyes.

House put his hand on her bare shoulder and laid a finger against her lips.

Rachel's conversation with a stuffed rabbit filtered through the wall. 'Oh, right… okay…" she muttered as she stood up and pulled on her dressing gown in one smooth movement. This was an obviously well rehearsed action.

House lay back down, grateful for the peace and grateful too, for the space. Sharing a bed again wasn't the easiest of things to adjust to after an age spent sleeping on his own. He was aware of being vaguely surprised at just how fast sleep pulled him down into its grip before a deep, deep sleep found him out cold and spread diagonally across the king sized bed.

Cuddy stepped back into the room, just as the alarm struck five. She had always been amazed at his ability to sleep seemingly in the most unlikely places and similarly to sleep through all manner of ruckus – even her alarm clock shrieking in his ear.

She wandered over to the far side of the bed and pushed the off button on top of the clock. She pulled the comforter up over his chest, smoothing it out across his body and smiled indulgently at the sleeping man before her. She would let him sleep in, there had to be some perks to dating the boss after all – so long as he wasn't _too_ late. Self satisfied that she had managed the start of her day with all her little balls in the air, in their right place, on task and on schedule, she shuffled off into the bathroom for a shower already beginning to process the day to come.

House, slumbered blissfully and peacefully on.

_So, this chapter is more of an amuse-bouche than a real, grown-up chapter – sorry! Mega thanks go to Iyimgrace for casting her expert eye over this. _


End file.
